


A Shared Passion

by Nicholas_Lucien



Series: FKFicFest [1]
Category: Forever Knight
Genre: Art, M/M, Painting, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 04:02:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8129729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicholas_Lucien/pseuds/Nicholas_Lucien
Summary: "What Janette had said was true.  He and LaCroix did have a lot of conflicts, and the arts had always been something they shared and agreed upon."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PJ1228](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PJ1228/gifts).



> For the prompt: Despite their violent past, Nick values LaCroix’s eclectic taste in art and music, which matches his own like no other’s.
> 
> I do not own these characters and is not intended to infringe upon any copyright owners. No profit is being made from this work.

“He wants you to go see him.  When are you going to stop avoiding him?”  Janette leaned over the table where Nicolas was sitting.  He was doing what he had been doing for the past twenty minutes: nursing his first drink.  She stocked that awful inferior animal blood for him, the least he could do was drink it quickly before the smell permeated everywhere.  She did not want to drive away clients or make those that stayed nauseous.

Nick looked up from his drink to Janette.  He smiled at her.  “I told you before, I have no intention of going to his place.  The less amount of time we spend together, the better.”

Janette slid slowly into the seat opposite of him.  She knew enough to not push too hard, but she was feeling the tension between Nicolas and LaCroix.  It resonated through their link and she was picking up the echoes.  She sighed.  “You know what he wants.  It is not too much to ask of you.”

“He can decorate his place however he sees fit.  I don’t need to see it.”  He paused.  “And with LaCroix,” Nick softly added, “he wouldn’t listen to my opinion anyway.”  He went back to looking at his drink.  Though he had to admit to himself, LaCroix did have exceptional taste and was very passionate about the various arts; a passion Nick had also developed over time.  Having lived through so many centuries and styles, their collection of art and appreciation for the arts had become quite eclectic.  It was almost tempting to see what his sire had put together, or if he was trying something new.  Almost.  Barely almost.  He looked at Janette again, still without touching his drink.  “If he’s looking for decorating input, why don’t you send Alma over to him?”   

Janette huffed.  “Nicolas, he does not want Alma.  LaCroix wants you.  He wants someone old, who knows the old works, the old masters.”

Nick shook his head.  “You’ve been with him longer than I have, and you get along better with him.  You go to him.”

“Are you saying I am old?  Don’t you know by now to never hint at a woman’s true age?”  His smile mirrored her own.  “He wants you, Nicolas,” Janette reiterated.  “You know how it is: you and LaCroix have seen so much together; experienced so much together; you have matching styles.”  She could unmistakably feel his irritation humming, though he had turned his head from her.  “Ah,” she breathed, while she put her chin in her gloved hand and propped her elbow onto the table.  “You do not like to be reminded that you and he are so much alike.”

“We are not alike,” Nick rumbled, looking back at her. 

Arching an eyebrow, she removed her chin from her hand, held her hand out, and began ticking off her points with her fingers.  “You are both strong-willed.  You are both stubborn.  You both believe the other is wrong.  You both are highly passionate about your ideas.  You both have fine tastes, in all things.  Including in each other.”  Nicolas put his hand over her fingers, stopping her counting. 

“We aren’t that anymore.”  Nick wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.  He liked being free and having as little ties to LaCroix as possible.  But at the same time, there was an empty part of him that did miss how they could be with each other.  But lately, all they ever did was argue and fight over points Nick had no intention of changing his position on.  It was probably best to sever as many connections as possible and keep it that way.  Besides, he didn’t think his feelings could be reciprocated in LaCroix anymore, given their current history.  That was burned away long ago.  “We can’t be that anymore.”  

Janette lowered her hand to the table and watched with regret when Nicolas withdrew his.  She knew, somewhere deep down, he still loved LaCroix, even if he tried desperately to ignore it.  She had experienced Nicolas’ love, and still did, enough to know that when he passionately shared himself, he never really severs that connection completely.  With LaCroix, it became just one of the many desires and impulses Nicolas suppressed and tried to ignore in his quest to break all ties and be mortal again.  She decided to not pursue that matter since it was apparent he did not like being reminded.  “You know he does not like to be ignored.  Say you will go to him.” 

Nick finally lifted his drink and took a sip, trying to convince himself he didn’t miss the taste of human blood.  He put his drink back down.  He quickly thought about what Janette had said.  “No.” 

Janette put her hand on his, reestablishing their physical contact.  “Why do you antagonize him so?  Think of this as an olive branch from him.”  

“Yeah, I think we all know how a long piece of wood can be used,” Nick quickly interjected. 

“Think of it,” Janette said, ignoring his interruption, “as a small offering to smooth over some of your conflicts and come to a new equilibrium, a new balance.  You and he are eternally bound to each other; that is not going to change. You could at least help make that relationship a little better.  The arts have always brought both of you together amicably.  You cannot deny that.” 

Nick looked down at her hand, delicately placed on his, wishing the contact was with skin and not cloth.  What Janette had said was true.  He and LaCroix did have a lot of conflicts, and the arts had always been something they shared and agreed upon.  

Janette saw him retreating into his memories and did not want him to remain there.  She needed him to focus on the present and consider the future.  “LaCroix rarely extends like this first.  It is a consideration that he is giving you a choice to come to him.  I suggest you go over and see what he wants from you.”  

Nick leaned back in his chair, putting his right hand to his mouth, rubbing his fingers across his lips.  He stared into nothingness. 

She watched him.  He always had that nervous habit when he was trying to contain something.  “For me?”  She watched Nicolas slowly blink, then bring his slate blue eyes up to her bright blue ones.  Janette knew he would consider it. 

“He has to ask me himself and give me his real reason.”  He saw her look of shock and stopped her protestation that she did not want to be involved in this.  “If he wants me, he needs to ask me, not get you to do it.  And do not tell me,” Nick leaned forward, “that you are completely innocent in this set-up.  I’ve been with you for a long time, Janette; I can tell when you are … highly involved.”  He saw her slowly blink.  Nick knew she would do it.  “Tell him.”


	2. Chapter 2

Nick came home to his loft after a very long, hard shift.  As the freight elevator rose he was surprised to hear music.  He was sure he had turned the system off before he had left to go to work that evening.  When he raised the safety grille and slid the large door open, he immediately saw how the music player had gotten turned on: LaCroix.  Nick began to wonder exactly how long his sire had been there.  

LaCroix turned when he heard the burned metal door slide open and Nicholas enter the loft space.  He had been glancing through his son’s music collection while listening to what was currently loaded into the music player.  He put the cases he had been holding in his hands back to their proper place, then he clicked off the player using the remote.  “An interesting collection.” 

Nick halted, torn between the warm feeling of praise LaCroix rarely provided to him and the cold feeling of dread that such praise could be a trap.  It all depended on his maker’s tone of voice, and LaCroix’s tone right now was completely neutral.  Nick was unsure how to proceed, so he continued to take off his jacket and remove his gun and holster.  He saw his maker watching him with those unblinking ice blue eyes.  Tracking his every move.  Nick reminded himself he wasn’t LaCroix’s dinner, though that was the distinct impression he got.  “I’m glad you found something here you like.”  

LaCroix gave a quick, tiny smile, then walked away from the entertainment area to the kitchen area.  He could feel his son’s agitation increase.  He stopped right before he felt his son may bolt.  “I understand that you wanted me to come talk to you.” 

Nick knew better than to retreat before his maker, so instead sidestepped him and walked over to the narrow table behind his leather couch to put his keys in the metal box.  “Well, you were looking for me.  One would think you would contact me directly.” 

LaCroix frowned as he turned to face Nicholas’ back, feeling the beginnings of his son’s irritation and found himself naturally responding to it.  “I had thought that a child, upon finding that his father was looking for him, would have come of his own volition.  Filial responsibility and all.”  Though he knew his child; Nicholas would never have come on his own.  As in so many times in the past, Janette had to help coax his stubborn son. 

Nick turned to face LaCroix.  “Are you here to ask me to help you or for a different reason?  Because if you want to talk about family relationships and responsibilities, you can say that over your broadcasts.”  

LaCroix could feel the friction between them escalating, so close to igniting.  It seemed lately they preferred having an antagonistic relationship, as if it was easier to deal with each other this way than any other.  He remembered past times when that had not been the case.  LaCroix looked around the room, allowing his irritation to wane.  “I actually came over a while ago to assess if your taste in art was still up to its original high standard.  Though with what you currently have,” LaCroix eyed with disgust the sun-images that were so prevalent throughout the home, “I might be revising my judgment.  Still, I am decorating my place with the best of the various styles of art, and I wanted an educated thought on the various pieces I am assembling.  There is no one else who understands this art like you do, therefore, would understand what I am trying to evoke with the collection, and if I have successfully achieved it.” 

Nick smiled.  “So what you are saying is you respect me, value my opinion, and want my input.” 

LaCroix looked at his son.  “You are the only one who would understand,” he stated. 

Nick took that as not a statement of agreement.  He imagined that olive branch, and the many things that branch could be used for, but he suppressed that thought.  No telling what LaCroix might do if he found out his son was thinking about that.  Still, his current feeling was to not spend any time physically with his sire if he could avoid it.  But for Janette….  

LaCroix blinked his eyes in exasperation.  His son should know by now that no thought, suppressed or not, could be hidden from him.  “Still feeling indecisive?  Hard to make this decision, Nicholas?”  LaCroix grinned.  “We could flip for it.  I believe that is the term used nowadays, correct?  Heads: you agree to come; tails: you do not have to come over.” 

Nick wasn’t quite sure where LaCroix was going with this but was willing to go along.  If there was a chance he didn’t have to go over at all, he would take it.  He reached into his pocket to get a coin.  LaCroix moved too fast for him to recognize until it was too late.  Nick found himself temporarily airborne, then on the couch, his back pressed into the leather.  His maker was holding him down, but Nick recognized he was being held with only a small fraction of his sire’s full strength.  LaCroix had controlled his fall and kept him from bouncing off the furniture, resulting in no damage to himself or anything else.  He felt amusement through their link.  

“It looks like heads.  You agree to come over.” 

Nick let his anger flow out while his eyes changed to their golden green color.  He hated being man-handled by LaCroix; a tactile way of being reminded who was stronger.  “That is not how that is typically done.” 

“You do you not agree with the result of the toss?  Shall we flip again?” 

Nick definitely didn’t want to do that again.  “No.” 

“So you will come?” 

Nick tried to raise himself off the furniture.  Gently held down he may be, but he was still being held down.  He sighed, yielding, and allowed his eyes to return to their original color.  “Okay.  I’ll come over and see what you have.” 

LaCroix smiled at the intense feelings he received from their link, while still sending amusement through to his son, to show no real aggression was meant.  He leaned over his child.  “Remember: when you come over, do not bring any wooden sticks.  I promise I will not have any either.”  He let go of his son before leaving through the skylight.


	3. Chapter 3

The next night Nick drove to LaCroix’s place.  He had gotten a call earlier from Janette to pick up a package the importer had been holding.  He might have said no to LaCroix, but for Janette, he had agreed to pick it up.  It was a painting, though it had been rewrapped by the importer after being inspected for damage, so Nick didn’t know which painting this was.  Tempted as he might have been to peek, he knew LaCroix would not tolerate that invasion at all.  Nick knocked on the door, though he knew his sire was aware of his presence.  He waited a while before the door finally opened.  LaCroix stood beside the door, so Nick could freely enter.  He looked around the entryway.  There were no artworks in this area, but there was an inner door to the rest of the house, but it was closed.  “Where do you want this?” 

LaCroix took the painting from his son.  “Wait here.” 

Nick watched as LaCroix went through the interior door and closed it.  He waited a while, then his sire re-emerged. 

“We are going out.” 

Nick was surprised.  He had thought LaCroix wanted him to see what was in the house.  “Out?” 

“Yes, Nicholas,” LaCroix said as he walked.  “Out.” 

Well, Nick thought, at least his time spent in the house would be minimal.  He saw LaCroix just standing by the car, looking at it.  “Shall we go in my car?”  He knew his maker preferred to fly whenever possible, so would likely not accept. 

LaCroix looked at his son.  Nicholas viewed the car as his personal territory, and thought the offer was nicely asked, he could tell his son really hoped the offer would not be taken.  However, LaCroix needed the large trunk space, which was why he had Nicholas pick up the painting, to ensure he would bring the car tonight.  “Yes.”  He could tell his son was not pleased.  LaCroix smiled.  He enjoyed the range and intensity of emotions his son could generate so quickly. 

Nick got into the car and drove where LaCroix told him to.  It was strange riding with his sire in his car.  He was more used to LaCroix’s presence as a voice coming out of the speakers than a physical presence actually next to him.  Nick found his attention distractingly split between the road and his maker.  That, combined with LaCroix’s late indications as to when to turn resulting in barely enough time to change lanes safely, put his Caddy into slight danger.  However, they got to where they were going and his car was safe, which was the important part.  

Nick got out and found himself at the front of a lighted gallery building which was showing a very large collection of modern art from various local artists.  It was closed.  Nick looked quizzically at his sire, who went to the door and knocked.  A man came and opened the door; the dazed look on his face confirmed to Nick that he was under someone’s influence.  Nick wondered what LaCroix was up to as he followed everyone inside.  The man locked the door and went to the back office, where he would stay until they needed him.  

“Let us look at some art, Nicholas.”  He turned, confident his protégé would follow. 

Nick followed and for the next few hours they slowly and thoroughly looked at all the pieces of art, which ranged from sculptures to paintings to photographs and even a single tapestry piece.  Some spots in the gallery were empty, mute testimony to pieces that had already been removed.  

At first, Nick was content to simply stand by his sire as LaCroix commented on each piece’s use of material and what the artist’s style and inspiration was.  The elder vampire would relate the modern work to older works, noting how even with the passing of centuries, there were still common themes that always persisted: anger; balance; man’s interactions with each other and the universe; hope; love.  

After a while, Nick found himself becoming a little more involved.  He realized that, especially with his own research and experience with history, he did agree with LaCroix that there was an unbroken connection from the past to the now, and art could reflect that while also commenting on the present.  Pleasant memories of past times when they had looked at art in galleries, or at the artist’s studios, came to the fore.  Nick was reminded again how knowledgeable LaCroix really was in art; reminded again how much he valued LaCroix’s opinion and insight; reminded again how they could be together.  It had been so long he had almost forgotten that they could be with each other and not argue or fight.  

By about half-way through the gallery, Nick was interacting more, sometimes even making an insight LaCroix said even he himself hadn’t considered.  He opened up to the praise and positive attention from his sire.  By the time they had gone through all the pieces, Nick found that he was actually a little disappointed; their time was now over.  

LaCroix had been enjoying his time with his favorite.  It had been a while since they had done such an activity and he could feel through his link that Nicholas was opening up, that some of the barriers his son had erected over the decades were loosening.  Nicholas did keep too much closed in and suppressed lately.  He also noted that talking about some of the old artistic styles raised memories, and some other pleasant linked memories were coming up as well.  He hoped Nicholas was paying attention to those; a gentle reminder that they did not always have a relationship that encompassed only hate.  Once they reached the end, having critiqued each piece, he turned to his son.  “Which one?”  

Nick glanced up at his sire.  “One what?” 

He sighed.  “Which one, in your opinion, is the best representation?” 

Nick was stunned.  “My opinion?” 

“Yes, Nicholas,” LaCroix said in a slightly humorous tone.  “That is why you are with me, assisting me, is it not?” 

Nick looked at LaCroix, decided his maker was genuinely serious, and then went back through the gallery.  He stopped in front of a painting from a First Nations artist, which showed an interesting combination of the ancient highly formal designs mixed with modern splashes of colors and looser lines and shapes.  “This one.”  LaCroix glided up to him.  Nick felt his maker’s hand on his shoulder.  It felt natural, like it belonged there; like a piece of himself had been missing and was now back.  

“I thought so as well.”  LaCroix broke his contact with his son and went to go summon the curator to purchase the piece.  He had the man and Nicholas load the painting into the trunk of the car, then released the mortal since his use was now over.  Nicholas got into the driver’s seat and they headed back to the house.  Once there, he assisted his son in getting the painting out of the trunk, without scratching the car; he knew Nicholas was very concerned on that point. 

Nick moved this new painting into the house.  Going past the entryway and the interior door, the inner corridor beyond still had no art pieces.  He began to wonder where, exactly, LaCroix was decorating in this house.  “So where is this going?” 

LaCroix indicated a door.  “Through there.”  He waited, looking at Nicholas expectantly. 

Nick finally figured out that LaCroix wanted him to open the door.  Nick leaned the painting he was holding carefully against the wall, and went to open the door.  He entered the room, then stopped a few feet in.  He couldn’t believe what he was looking at.  The room was a very large study, with a leather couch against one wall and a rug on the floor and some small tables scattered around.  There were many paintings already hanging on the walls, but there were bare spots: areas where new pieces could be hung.  There were also some statues on pillars, the tables, or directly upon the floor.  He felt his maker slide up to him. 

“These are my favorites from my various houses.  What do you think of this collection so far?”  LaCroix asked.  He felt many complex, powerful emotions coming from his son.  

Nick was overwhelmed.  In the room were many of the various representations of art they had experienced together over the centuries.  He remembered looking at each of these pieces.  He remembered the discussions they had had on each of these pieces.  He remembered that, like tonight, each of these pieces were the ones he had selected.  He found that he was deeply touched that LaCroix, with all the various artworks he had, had chosen to assemble these together.  Nick surprisingly found himself reaching over with his hand and gently encircling LaCroix’s.  He had been ever increasing aware of his maker’s physical presence all night, and the tactile feeling of touching his skin, feeling the muscles move and the blood flowing through the surface veins, was somehow comforting.  “It’s a good collection.” 

LaCroix huffed.  “Only good?  This is an exceptional collection.”  He had carefully taught and cultivated art appreciation in Nicholas; his son’s artistic taste was better than simply _good_. 

Nick turned to look at his maker.  “The painting I picked up from the importers?”  LaCroix indicated a table set up against the nearest wall.  Nick looked over at it, recognizing the painting immediately.   

“I have not decided where to place that one yet.  It is the painting I most enjoyed from the Madrid house.  Do you remember it?” 

Nick smiled at the memory.  He had always thought highly of his maker’s artistic tastes and had loved it when LaCroix showed approval of the art he made.  At the time, Nick hadn’t wanted to pick out a piece for the house but had chosen instead to paint one himself for LaCroix.  “Yes, I remember that piece.”  This one, all of them actually, reminders of when they had a more amicable rapport.  The memories of their times together rose more quickly than he realized, bringing up more before he could stop them.  Bringing up the fact that they, at these various times, were passionately involved with each other.  

LaCroix felt that his son was beginning to trust and relax around him.  Then he began to feel Nicholas withdrawing.  His son’s now inherent reflexive distrust of his maker, a product of their past violent dealings with each other, driving his suppression.  LaCroix felt what progress they had made tonight dissolving away.  “Nicholas.” 

Nick broke his contact with his sire and backed away.  He was wondering exactly why his input was needed on these pieces since he had previously said these pieces he liked.  He disliked the feeling he was being manipulated.  “What is your intention here, LaCroix?  Really?” 

LaCroix kept himself calm, and sent reassurance through their link, that he meant no harm.  Too easily Nicholas could hide behind his anger.  “To remind you that our relationship was not always aggressive and filled only with anger and hate.  That we can be on better terms.” 

Nick shook his head.  “Why?” 

“Why?  Why change our relationship?  You enjoy what we have now?  I felt an alteration was required.  This was better, was it not?”  He could see that his son was not convinced even the slightest. 

“Then why didn’t you just say that?” 

“Nicholas, had I had said I valued you as my favorite, that I do listen to you, wanted a relationship without the amount of anger and distrust as this current one, would you have believed me?” 

It did not take Nick long to think about that question.  He knew exactly how he would have responded before.  “No.” 

“No,” LaCroix confirmed.  “As on so many occasions in the past, you had to be shown.  You had to come to that conclusion on your own.” 

“So all of this?  Everything we did tonight?” 

“To remind you that we have and can be civil with each other; better thoughts than what you currently occupy yourself with remembering.  And to create a new memory and a new experience on which to rebuild.  Our shared passion for art has always brought us peacefully together, why not try that again?  I told you before that I wanted you back, that I would accept even a part.  If I cannot have you near me, at least I will have your artistic choices around me.  That part of you with me.”  

“Is that all?  Just being civil with each other?” 

“What else is there?”  LaCroix waited.  He could feel nothing from Nicholas.  His son’s mind, like his body, was perfectly still at the moment.  

Nick thought about all he had experienced that night.  It was better and reminded him of what they had before.  Opening up, he was more aware of his sire and the distracting echo of his own desires.  Nick noted, for the first time, how quiet the house really was.  Except for the almost imperceptible sound of the blood moving through his maker’s veins.  The sound he had, in the past, fell asleep to and woke up hearing.  Nick’s suppressed desires rose violently to the surface and he felt his fangs reflexively begin to drop.  He realized that, though he had suppressed it for a long time, he could honestly say he wanted more than to just be civil with his maker.  Tonight had reminded him of something he didn’t think they could have again.  That maybe under all the hatred, there was still love, for both of them.  Nick thought again of that olive branch: its use as an offering for peace and reconciliation.  He took a hesitant step towards LaCroix.  “What if I wanted more?”  He knew he was taking a risk, exposing himself.  But ultimately he had to know; he had to know if LaCroix did still love him like they had during the times all this art was collected.  

“More, Nicholas?  What do you mean by _more_?” 

His maker’s tone was not encouraging, but Nick pressed on.  “Exactly like our old relationship.” 

“Do you have such feelings, Nicholas?  Still?” 

Nicholas looked down and closed his eyes.  He let his passion completely open up and flow into his blood and mind, knowing LaCroix would pick it up through their link.  He experienced nothing in return, not even the calming effect from before that he knew his sire had been sending to him.  He felt completely alone.  Perhaps there really wasn’t anything there anymore. 


	4. Chapter 4

After what seemed like hours, Nick felt LaCroix’s hand on his chin, raising his head gently upward.  He kept his eyes closed as the first few buttons on his collar and shirt were slowly opened and the cloth pulled back, exposing his skin.  The kiss on his far right lower neck was unexpected and then Nick shuddered slightly as he experienced the sides of LaCroix’s long fangs drag across the skin of his neck.  Once on the left side, the pressure of the fangs against the skin increased and eventually angled so the tips were in use, finally drawing blood.  Nick was unable to move his head down to reflexively bite LaCroix’s neck, so instead closed the small distance between them, pressing as much of himself against the older vampire as LaCroix was using his tongue to lick his seeping blood.  Then he experienced intense desire coming from his sire, its strength more than matching his own.  He opened his eyes, leaned backward, and looked into the vermillion eyes of LaCroix.  Nick smiled, knowing his passion was reciprocated.  Knowing he had made a good choice.  

LaCroix smiled at the feeling and taste of desire Nicholas had acknowledged he wanted from his sire.  “Does this mean,” LaCroix rumbled, “you will be spending more time with me, adding to this collection?”    

“Yes,” Nick said.  He bared his fangs and let out a low rumble.  

LaCroix heard the sound ripped from Nicholas’ throat, then hands were on his shirt, gripping the material and ripping the buttons from their anchoring stitching; the shirt parted, exposing his upper chest and neck.  Fangs immediately buried themselves into the left side of his neck, piercing the large vessel and drawing out the blood.  He wrapped his arms around Nicholas, and with a rumble of his own, sank his fangs into the exposed neck, completing the cycle of blood.  They both toppled down to the floor, with Nicholas underneath him.  

LaCroix experienced through the blood chaotic flashing of images and emotions.  He did not bother to attempt to slow or sort through them; Nicholas never could control himself when he was in such a frenzied state.  But the overall impression LaCroix received was of intense love and absolute contentment at finally being reunited back with his lover.  He let his own desire and pleasant memories with Nicholas saturate his blood while holding back the more painful ones from his lover.  Nicholas did not need to re-experience those.  LaCroix eventually slid his fangs out and pulled away from his favorite.  He looked down, seeing Nicholas’ now crimson eyes and red-tipped elongated canines.  Now that they were disconnected, LaCroix quickly tore Nicholas’ shirt completely open.  He waited until their wounds healed and the skin sealed over the punctures before leaning over to kiss the restored area.  He continued his kisses everywhere, ending at the shoulder when he felt Nicholas attempt to rise up.  He intertwined his fingers into Nicholas’ and moved their arms, extending them far away from their sides.  The younger vampire tried to rise and bite his neck again, but LaCroix raised himself upward at the last moment while pushing down on the arms.  Nicholas’ fangs barely missed their intended mark; instead, the tips scraped along his skin surface, creating twin trails of seeping blood. 

“Lucien,” Nick groaned, as his head thudded back down to the floor.  He desperately needed that connection again.  The blood and memories had said it all: Lucien truly did desire him.  Nick found he didn’t want to be denied now that he knew their love was still intact and his lover was so close and obtainable.  “Please,” he pleaded, his need driving his attempt to again pierce the skin and claim the blood.      

Lucien waited until Nicholas reached upward again, enjoying the sight of his lover rising to meet him, in addition to feeling something else from his lover rise against his leg.  He lowered himself just far enough, granting permission for Nicholas to bite and pierce the skin and blood vessel again.  Lucien growled in anticipation and bit, his lover’s wonderfully intoxicating emotionally-laden blood flowed in again. 

Nick, now able to reach the skin, pierced through again, and he drew the thick blood out and brought it into himself, experiencing Lucien.  Then he felt the twin points of pain that indicated he had been bitten again.  Nick felt himself flow out.  He lost himself for a while, but then he came flowing back in through the blood he was taking from Lucien, mixing with it, just to give it back to Lucien again in an unending cycle.  Then everything faded away to blackness.   

Lucien felt when Nicholas was mentally overloaded and the moment when he lost consciousness.  Lucien withdrew his fangs, then pulled Nicholas’ out of his neck; his lover’s fangs automatically retracting now that they were no longer in contact with blood.  He rolled off Nicholas and carefully picked him up and took him over to the couch.  Lucien laid him gently on the couch, thinking this was the second time in a twenty-four hour period he had put Nicholas on a couch and how much their relationship had changed within that timeframe.  Lucien then sank down, curled beside him, and placed his arms protectively around his Nicholas.  As he closed his eyes and went to sleep, his last thought was that the collection did successfully have the overall effect he was trying to achieve. 


End file.
